


Upping the Ante

by SidheLives



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gambling, Gift Exchange, Gift Fic, Mutual Pining, Pining, Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29676087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidheLives/pseuds/SidheLives
Summary: In a series of rooms across Kirkwall, over a series of drinks, two people play rounds around the inevitable.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras, Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21





	Upping the Ante

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard/gifts).



The Hanged Man was bustling with activity. Card games, singing, and near fistfights filling the hovel with noise and the smell of cheap alcohol. Marian grinned, planting her hands on her hips as she observed the tumult. She may have moved into Hightown, but this would always be where she belonged, much to her mother's chagrin.

"Hawke!" Varric had spotted her from across the crowded room and was waving her over. "Saved you the best seat in the house!"

A gleam in her eye, Marian roughly shoved her way across the floor to the table which Varric and Isabela had staked out. There was a dagger plunged into the wood beside Isabela's elbow and she winked as Hawke threw one leg over the bench next to Varric and sat down. "Any seat is the best in the house if it's next to you," She teased.

Varric shrugged lackadaisically. "When you're right you're right." 

He nudged a full tankard toward her, which she took with a nod of appreciation. "We expecting anyone else?"

Varric gestured at Isabela with his head. "Rivani says Broody's coming, I've got a crown against that though."

"He'll show," Isabela assured them.

"What are the odds? Can I get money on this?" Marian leaned her elbows on the table.

"Depends. Who are you betting against?" Varric raised an eyebrow.

"You, obviously," Marian laughed. "Isabela knows what color his underpants are, I trust her on his evening plans."

Isabela preened. "You see? I know what I'm on about."

Varric sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Unfortunately betting has been closed for this event."

Marian's attention caught on the way his eyes shimmered with laughter despite his scowl and felt a dopey smile threatening her expression. She coughed into her fist, blindsided by the warm feeling radiating through her chest. _What in Thedas was that?_

"What about Daisy?" She asked conversationally. "You still have people shadowing her around, don't you?"

"I invited her," Isabela interjected. "She said she was occupied for the evening, although what could be more important than this I can't imagine."

Marian shrugged. "Turns out not all of our friends are drunkards like us."

"Their loss." Varric raised his tankard.

Isabela scooted her stool closer to Marian's side. "So what's it like up in the big house? All moved in?"

Taking a drink, Marian nodded, then wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "The last of the furniture was delivered today, so Mother is happy. I have a real bed and my dog, which is all that really matters to me."

"At least you have something to keep you warm at night." Varric playfully elbowed her in the side.

 _There it was again_.

It was like her throat went suddenly dry and her heart missed a beat in its normal rhythm. Marian scowled at the feeling.

Isabela huffed. "Hawke has plenty of options, Varric. You're just upset she hasn't settled on _you_."

"Sure you're not projecting there, Rivani?" Varric raised his eyebrows suggestively.

For the first time in her conscious memory, Marian had no retort ready for the conversation. She felt queer and off balance, and she hated it. Isabela looked at her expectantly, waiting for her scathing tongue and Marian floundered, saved suddenly by a shock of white hair grumping into the bar.

"Looks like you owe Isabela a sovereign." She used her tankard to gesture at the approaching elf, tossing Varric a smirk.

Varric hit the table with his fist, making the tankards jump. "Damn it all, Broody! You just helped the pirate rob me!"

Fenris, as expected, appeared nonplussed by the display, stepping over the bench opposite Varric and sitting down. "Not of everything I hope. We are here to play cards if I remember correctly."

"Thems fighting words." Marian gave him a nod of greeting.

"I didn't come all the way from Hightown to lose," he responded with a shrug.

"Nah, only Hawke does that." Varric pulled a deck from his pocket and began to shuffle.

Marian elbowed him. "If you played half as good as you talked, Fenris wouldn't fleece you every time he comes out."

"Someone has to give him a reason to get out of that dingy manor every once in a while," Varric reasoned, dealing. "If he always lost we'd never see him again."

"Oh, so he's not good at winning, you're just good at losing?" Isabela glanced at him over her cards.

"We're a table full of bad luck. It only makes sense that _one_ of us to learn to harness it."

*

"Did you do something with your hair?"

Marian looked at him over the top of her book. "I cut it."

Varric squinted at the uneven mess on top of her head. "With a hatchet, I assume?"

She glared. "You're right, I couldn't stand the thought of matching you and Anders's cute little ponies so I laid my head on the butcher's block and hacked it off. What if people were to compare us? I'd never stack up against the two of you."

"So you went with _Broody's_ look? You're always going to be the ugly one in that competition." Varric shook his head sadly.

Marian snapped her book closed. "Fuck. You're right. I'll have to shave my head."

He chuckled. "It looks good."

Marian rolled her eyes. "Don't fucking lie now to spare my feelings. The moment has passed."

"I'm serious," he insisted, pouring himself another glass of wine. "It's very you."

Tossing the book aside, Marian dropped her legs off the arm of the sitting chair and stood, picking up her own empty wine glass and coming to his side. "I don't know if that's a compliment or not." She set the glass down in front of him.

"Let's say it is and go from there." He tipped the last of the bottle into her glass and she snatched it back up.

"I guess I should say thank you then," she snarked.

"You're welcome." Varric beamed.

Marian rolled her eyes, a smirk on her lips, and headed back to her chair. Varric's eyes automatically drifted down her back as she walked away, noting how pleasant her behind looked in fitted leather.

_Wait._

Varric frowned, nose pulling up in confusion at the unexpected thought. He shook his head and glanced wearily at the empty bottle. "So how long is your mother planning on prancing suitors around the manor?"

"So eager to be rid of me?" Marian settled back onto the chair, one leg up over the arm as she reclined, sipping her wine.

He put his hands up. "Not at all. Just wondering how soon she'll give up the game."

Marian chuckled. "Leandra Hawke is nothing if not persistent. Did I tell you who she has round today?"

"You did not." Varric leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

She spread her arms dramatically. "Seneschal Bran Cavin and his son Humphrey."

Varric stared at her, blinking wildly for a moment then burst into laughter. "You're kidding."

"I most certainly am not. Apparently, Humphrey Cavin is pretty high on Mother's list. A very good match, she would say."

"Having met his father I can only imagine what a gem the son must be." Varric put his feet up on the table, leaning his chair back." You're definitely better off here."

Marian smirked wickedly. "I imagine being daughter-in-law of the Seneschal of Kirkwall probably does have its advantages. Bran would lose his mind for one, I can't imagine what compelled him to even consider such a thing."

"Maybe he thinks getting you hitched would calm you down," Varric postulated with a grin.

"Or maybe Humphrey has nothing to do with it. He is a widower you know." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Maybe all that growling and grimacing is hiding something a bit more… carnal. I'd wager being the wife of the Seneschal has considerably more perks than being the wife of his son, and you know what they say about redheads." She winked playfully.

Varric went hot, skin crawling with pinching indignation. He had never considered his feelings on Marian being courted, but now that the idea had been given a face and even a joking approval by the woman, he was distinctly put off by it. He had no reason for such an inclination, if Marian was interested in marrying into a powerful position that was her prerogative. Which was beside the point, considering he knew she wasn't.

Varric glanced again to the wine bottle with a pronounced frown.

"Has the wine displeased you, Varric?" Marian was watching him with a bemused smirk. "Insulted your mother? Or worse, your prose?"

"It was questioning my use of metaphor," he responded with a grin.

"How dare it," She offered sardonically before scooping her book back up and crossing her ankles.

Varric chuckled, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she resumed her reading.

He made a mental note that he would do well to watch his drinking.

*

"Too bad Fenris couldn't make it out tonight," Marian tossed a handful of coppers into the pot at the table's center.

"Mores the better, I don't think I could have handled a game of Wicked Grace." Isabela called Marian's bet, peeking confidently over her cards.

Varric raised, silvers flying from his hand. "Coward."

Isabela stuck her tongue out at him as she and Marian called.

"Let's see what you're packing, Shorty." Isabela raised an eyebrow, displaying four of a kind.

"You bitch, I was sure you were bluffing," Marian cried in dismay, throwing down her two pair.

"Read 'em and weep, Rivani," Varric proclaimed, slowly laying down a straight flush.

"Cheat!" Isabela cried, limply slapping her hands on the table as Varric collected his winnings.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Wasn't it you who said ‘it's only cheating if you get caught?’"

Marian snickered. “I do seem to remember that. Or was that only in regards to romantic partners?”

Isabela forcefully leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms petulantly. "You better be buying the next round."

Varric laughed and pushed up from his seat. "Alright, fine. Anything you want, my treat."

"Anything, eh?" A wicked gleam sparked in her eyes. "Then I want that fancy Orzammar ale you bring round sometimes."

He shrugged apologetically. "No can do, all out."

"But you can get some," Marian joined in. She loved real dwarven ale. "The Merchant's Guild always has some up in Hightown."

He glared at her. "I am not going all the way to Hightown to get you a drink."

"You said anything I wanted, Varric." Isabela stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout.

"She has a point." Marian grinned cheekily. "You don't want people around town hearing that Varric Tethras goes back on his word, _do you_?"

Varric narrowed his eyes at her. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I though?" She shot back.

They stubbornly locked eyes. Marian watched him calculate the seriousness of her threat and raised one brow, daring him to call her bluff. Rolling his eyes, Varric relented, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair.

"Fine. But only because I'm such a kind soul."

Isabela cackled. "Yes!" She settled back into her chair. "Don't be long now, I'm positively parched."

Varric groaned and tossed on his coat. "Feel free to rifle through my drawers while I'm gone." He winked at Marian. "Small clothes are in the bottom drawer."

She watched him go over her shoulder, ignoring the idiotic tilt of her expression and the warmth touching her cheekbones.

"Oh. My. God."

Marian's head snapped around to Isabela's aghast expression. "What?" She demanded defensively, scowling.

"You like him!" She leaned forward over the table, shoving her face into Marian's. "High and mighty Lady Hawke has a _crush_ on the disreputable novelist!"

Marian felt her cheeks flame again and shoved Isabela back. "That is the most ridiculous notion I've ever heard. You're drunk."

Isabela grinned and ran her tongue over her top teeth, like a cat cornering a mouse. "That may be true, but that would only make my face red, not yours. What's your excuse?"

" _I'm_ drunk?" Marian offered hopefully, prompting another howl of laughter from Isabela. "Would you keep it down?"

"Not until you admit I'm right." She raised an expectant eyebrow.

"You're not."

"HAWKE AND VARRIC SITTING IN A TREE," Isabela began to sing at the top of her lungs. "K-I-S-S-I-N—"

Marian shot across the table, slapping her hand over Isabela's mouth, her other hand tucking behind her neck to clamp her hand tightly over her yapping gob. “Fine! You’re right. Could you just shut it?”

Isabela nodded, eyes shimmering with delight. Marian gave her a stern look and hesitantly took her hands away, ready to slam them back into place if necessary, but Isabela just stared at her, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

“Oh. My. God.”

Groaning, Marian threw her arms back in defeat. “What now?”

“You _do_ like him!”

Marian gaped at her, eyes narrowed and brows pulled down in confusion. “You’re the one who said—”

“Oh, I was bluffing.” Isabela leaned back in her chair, a victorious tilt to her head.

Eye twitching, Marian stared at her in disbelief, then buried her face in her hands, an aggravated whine leaking from between her fingers.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Isabela put her legs up on the table, crossing her ankles. “Just climb on top of him and shove your tongue down his throat. That’s always worked for me.”

“It’s not that easy,” Marian mumbled into her hands.

Isabela scoffed. “Why not?”

She dropped her hands and let her head roll back. “Because he’s not just a man, he’s…” she sighed. “Because he’s _Varric_.”

“You going to tell him?”

Marian’s eyes snapped to Isabela's and the woman shuddered at what she saw in them. “Absolutely not. And you’re not going to either.”

Isabela licked her lips and opened her mouth to retort, but Marian stopped her with a finger held up to her face.

“You will say nothing, or you will say nothing ever again.” Marian could feel how wide her eyes were, and the tendons in her neck felt dangerously tight. “Are we clear?”

Isabela nodded quickly.

“Good.”

*

Fenris's mansion in Hightown was about as far away, aesthetically, as you could get from The Hanged Man: wide-open rooms, fine rugs and tapestries, and shockingly empty. It made a nice vacation spot for the occasional evening when the girls were otherwise engaged. 

And the wine cellar was still stocked.

Varric and Fenris sat in comfortable silence, reclining on plush, if slightly dusty, settees, a bottle in each of their grips. It was a welcome reprieve after the madness which seemed to be rapidly swallowing up the city.

"So when are you going to tell Hawke?" Fenris broke the silence, head lolling to the side to fix Varric with his oddly intense gaze.

Sitting up a little straighter, Varric smirked at the vague question. "Tell her what?"

"That you're in love with her."

Varric choked on the drink of wine he had been attempting, sputtering the mauve liquid over his chest. He coughed, leaning forward as he recovered. "I don't know what you're thinking but—"

"I already don't believe you," Fenris cut him off, a sly smile curling his lips.

Varric studied him, gauging how effective lying would be, but the elf's eyes were clear and he sighed resignedly. "...is it that obvious?"

"Yes." Fenris's voice was deadpan, and extinguished any hope Varric had that the man was pulling his leg.

"I hadn't planned on telling her _ever_ , if I'm being honest." He fumbled with the bottle, passing it between his hands. "Do you think she can tell?"

Fenris chuckled. "No. Hawke is many things, but observant is not one of them."

"Thank goodness for small blessings I suppose," Varric mumbled. He'd been dancing around the situation with himself for weeks, and had yet to come up with a suitable solution.

"Why not tell her?" Fenris shrugged. "You're friends after all. It's only natural those feelings might progress."

Varric laughed bitterly. "Because she's nobility? Because she's my best friend and I don't want to stomp all over that trust? Because she's…" he sighed again, shoulders deflating. "She's _Hawke_."

"Sounds like a long string of excuses for cowardice to me," Fenris remarked. Varric glowered at him and he sat up, fixing the dwarf with his steely eyes. "Hawke is only nobility because she has money and a fancy house. You have plenty of money yourself. Being honest with her is, in fact, the opposite of stomping on her trust. And yes," he raised a skeptical brow. "Hawke is Hawke. Excellent observation."

Varric glowered at him. "How is it you can't even read but you're making _me_ feel stupid?"

Fenris shrugged, looking smug. "Intelligence is more than just words."

Varric chuckled. "I guess you're right." He studied the bottle in his hands. "How would you do it?"

Fenris's ears twitched. "Do what?"

"Tell her, obviously."

"Oh," he considered for a moment. "I probably wouldn't."

"Well, shit." Varric laughed.

Fenris echoed the sound and raised his bottle. "Here's to romantic ineptitude."

"And dying alone." Varric knocked his bottle against Fenris's with a hearty _clank_ , and they both drank.

*

The Hawke manor was dressed up, not that it was ever really dressed down with Leandra in charge. Everything had been polished to a shine and the good candlesticks were out, the ones which bore the Amell family crest that Marian had tracked down in Darktown using many threats of violence in order to present her mother for her last birthday. Bodahn and Orana had been given the night off and the dinner guests had finally filtered out, taking Marian's mother along for another small get-together at a different Hightown estate. Marian had declined the invitation, opting to remain behind and straighten up the place, and Varric had offered to assist her. So it was that the two of them were left alone, carrying lightly used china into the kitchen to wash.

"You didn't need to stick around," Marian tutted, setting a stack of plates on the counter and turning to retrieve those which Varric was holding. "I could have handled this myself."

"It's nothing, besides, you invited me to your fancy dinner party, I'm assuming against your mother's wishes. Spending a few hours sweeping up the stick of aristocracy is the least I can offer in return."

"Mother actually likes you," Marian corrected. "She wishes all my _associates_ were more like you and Aveline."

He tilted his head in interest. "Are me and the Illustrious guard captain that similar?"

She shrugged, a twinkle in her eye. "It's more that neither of you are abominations, blood mages, murderers, or pirates."

"I suppose that would do it," he chuckled.

"What do you say I'll wash if you dry?" She gestured at the stack of dishes.

He nodded. "Sounds good to me." He scooped a dishrag from the counter and placed himself at her right elbow as Marian began pumping the sink full of sudsy water.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she plunged the plate and cloth under the water, gently scrubbing the porcelain clean, then removed them, giving the plate a curt little shake to remove the excess droplets before holding it out for him to take. He did so, carefully turning the delicate china in his hands as he dried it. Marian was at once careful and bold, handing the fragile curios with the same confidant braggadocio that she handled everything.

As he stacked dry plates, Varric cleared his throat, drawing Marian’s eye. “So how is Leandra’s quest to marry you off going?” 

"I think she's finally given up," she replied with a grin, handing him another plate.

Varric's eyebrows raised. "Oh, really? What happened to her notorious persistence?"

"I finally made it transparently clear that I had, and would have, no interest in any man she brought around, no matter their charms or pedigree." One corner of her lips quirked up in a partially suppressed smile and her eyes met his for a brief moment before flicking back to the plate she was washing.

Varric mulled over her phrasing for a breath. "You're a hard woman to impress," he pronounced, watching her expression.

"Not particularly," Marian countered. "I just have specific requirements for what I find impressive."

"Care to elaborate?" Varric cautiously stacked another plate, attention focused on Marian.

"Any man I would be interested in would have to be able to make me laugh," she began, flicking the water off a plate. "Smart, but not elitist about it, creative, and he'd have to be able to keep up with me, of course." She handed over the damp plate, irises aimed up in thought. "I'm also particularly fond of shorter men."

The dish slipped from Varric's hand as he stared at her fanciful smile and hit the flagstones with a crash, porcelain bursting apart into jagged fragments. Varric and Marian both jumped back from the sound and Varric flushed, heat rising up his neck. "Shit. Sorry."

Marian laughed, pressing a hand to her chest. "Boy Varric, you really know how to get a girl's heart pumping," she joked, slightly out of breath from the shock. "Let me get that." She went down on one knee, carefully plucking shards of ceramic from the floor.

"No, let me, it was my fault." Varric got down beside her.

She watched him scramble for the broken pieces, his attention and reddened face fully devoted to the floor. "Thanks. I'll get the bin." She got back to her feet to retrieve a small bucket from the corner, dropping her collected refuse into it before setting it down beside Varric.

He glanced up at her from his work, seeing a small dust broom had appeared in her hands, and tossed his own collection of shattered porcelain into the bin, clearing the way for her to sweep up the remaining shards. "What would you do if you found a man who possessed all these remarkable qualities?" He asked tentatively as she brushed the broom along the stones.

"I'd take my time, get to know him.” Marian's eyes swiveled up at him, hands not pausing in their activity. “I’d keep him close, and not make any rash decisions.”

Varric wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “That’s a very prudent course of action, I’ve got to admit.”

Marian breathed a chuckle through her nose, tipping the dust and ceramic into the bin and stood up, setting the broom aside to dust herself off. “What about you? What would you do if you met your perfect woman?”

Varric resumed his position beside the sink. “Oh, you know me. I’d probably never say anything to her and suffer in silence. I’d just keep in her orbit, helping out wherever I could.”

“Helping out?” Marian tilted her head to one side.

He grinned. “Yeah. Running errands with her, giving her a place to relax when she needed time away, drying dishes. Whatever she needed.”

Marian nodded slowly, the faintest shadow of crimson touching her cheeks, and stepped back up to the sink. She looked over at Varric, a contented smile on her lips. “She’d probably appreciate that.”

“Great,” he breathed, a foolish smile stuck on his face as he grabbed the dishrag from where he’d dropped it. “Great.”

Marian washed and passed over another plate. “Hanged Man after this?”

Varric took it with a laugh. “Sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter @SidheLives for more Dragon Age Bullshit


End file.
